


A Categorization of Scars

by Azraeldigabriel



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Peace and fluff, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), because this is how I cope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azraeldigabriel/pseuds/Azraeldigabriel
Summary: In a moment of peace, Martin takes stock of things, and ponders.
Relationships: Also Martin Blackwood/Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	A Categorization of Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Hooray, first TMA fic! Short and fluffy, I needed this for a coping mechanism, as I'm sure a lot of us did. Apologies for any strange formatting, I've not posted on AO3 in a very long time. Enjoy!

74 hours. 

Martin is keenly aware of how long he and Jon have been firmly hunkered down in their cabin. Since they had initially opened the door and piled in without much fanfare, he hadn’t really given himself much time to reflect on what had brought them here in the first place. Or, how much time they were going to be spending here. 74 hours, 23 minutes, and 45 seconds so far, but who was counting, right? As far as Martin is concerned, he will continue counting every second he has Jon at his side, safe, even only relatively. 

It’s a little past twilight now, and they’re side by side in the ancient bed. Jon is facing him, already asleep, and Martin can’t remember the last time he saw him so peaceful. 

_Yes you can._ He thinks. _He was dead the last time._ Martin jerks the thought away. Sometimes he’s certain that The Lonely hasn’t quite let him be, or maybe he was always a part of it. He struggles to pull himself back for a moment, taking Jon’s hand in his own and focusing on the roughness of his skin. 

Martin tries not to acknowledge Jon’s abundance of scars, but as wavering bars of moonlight fall over the Archivist’s sleeping form, he finally takes them in. He trails his fingers over Jon’s scorched palm, the indents from Jude’s fiery handshake a pale, puckered stain. Martin keeps moving up the man’s arm, over pockmarks courtesy of Jane Prentiss’ burrowing worms. He slides over the deep divot in Jon’s shoulder, Melanie, and comes to a pause on his neck. Tentative, as gently as he can, he runs his thumb over the deep line that slashes across his throat. He stiffens as Jon stirs, but it only lasts a moment before he settles, stretching and draping his arm over Martin’s shoulder. 

Martin would melt, but he’s since spotted twin spots peeking from under Jon’s shirt. _Ah. The anchors._ Those, along with Daisy’s attempted murder, were ones that Jon never mentioned. Not that Martin can blame him; he can hardly imagine the pain Jon’s had to endure of the past few years. He shudders to think of it. 

The moment he brushes his hand over the point where ribs had been, Jon makes a sound akin to a cat and promptly flops closer against Martin’s chest. With a low, contented sigh from the Archivist rumbling in his ears, The Lonely’s siren call fades away, and Martin is left in silence.  
For a brief moment, he tries to remember what time he’d been on, but soon enough he relents and opts to bury his face into Jon’s messy, half undone bun. There’s no need to count, no need to categorize anything anymore. He’s taken stock, and all that matters is that they’re together.  
He’d like Jon to talk about his scars, eventually. He’d like Jon to talk about a lot of things. But for now, time stands still, and will stay that way until he says so. He holds Jon closer, and he’s asleep.


End file.
